Good Girl Gone Bad
by angelically-devilish
Summary: They say that once a good girl goes bad, she dies forever...


**Good Girl Gone Bad**

Hermione Granger tried not to fidget as she stood, completely bored, on a platform in front of a large assembly of dewy-eyed spectators. As with most public moments of her life, she was sandwiched between the tall, lean bodies of her two best friends and while they were more adept at hiding it than she was, Hermione could read their own boredom on their faces. It was the tenth anniversary of the death of Lord Voldemort and so, of course, the wizarding world was out in full force to celebrate. Next to them, another ambitious politician tried to score voter points by giving a clichéd, platitudinous speech in praise of the Golden Trio.

Hence the boredom.

Hermione had long-since found herself less inclined to tolerate the unceasing prattle of the men and women who continued to show gross indifference to anything of consequence—providing it was not somehow linked to the great and faultless Harry Potter. Harry was far more forgiving. So was Ron. They, at least, were willing to smile and nod. Hermione barely managed that. She hated the pomp and circumstance and hypocrisy, and only attended after much cajoling, pleading and bribery from her friends. So she showed up, responded with appropriate humility, and inwardly prayed that some act of God would cancel or interrupt the ceremony—preferably for an indefinite period of time.

At that moment, she was trying not to look at her watch. There were so many other places she would rather be, but she assumed her friends felt the same way. That was where the similarities ended, though. While she knew her friends would rather be at home with their families and significant others, enjoying their well-deserved peace after a long, arduous childhood of pain and strife, Hermione's thoughts were for darker things. Things she couldn't tell her friends about, knowing they would disapprove. Things that even her former self would have balked at the idea of. Things that had become so much a part of her that she doubted she could ever go back to being the person they all still thought she was.

Things that no good girl would ever consider doing.

Doubtless, they would never understand the thrill of it. They were all finished with the life of adventure and risks. Had enough for several lifetimes, they had said. They didn't know what it felt like to miss it; to crave it again. She did. And so she had found a way to do it again, in the only way she knew how. Well, that wasn't true. She knew there were other, safer, less questionable ways to get her fix. But she was too far-gone to consider turning back.

Roused by applause, Hermione pasted a smile on her face and went through the expected motions of modesty and blushing flattery before finally finding an opening to leave, sneaking away and making a dash for the door.

"'Mione?"

She cringed, feeling her body come to a halt even though her brain was screaming to run. She was mere feet from the exit. She could almost taste fresh oxygen. Tension filled her body and she knew he'd notice, because he always noticed.

"Sirius," she said, turning to face the gorgeous aristocrat with her carefully-crafted smile in place. "I didn't think you were coming."

"Yes you did," he countered. "You were just hoping I wouldn't catch you before you disappeared into the night."

And there it was. One of the many hard truths Sirius Black was able to ferret out of her every time they saw each other. It was the reason why she avoided him. Well, one of the reasons, anyway.

"Don't be so melodramatic," she said, trying for light admonishment but knowing he could see right through it. "You know I always enjoy seeing you."

He gave a hollow laugh. "Tell that to your face, love," he replied, taking a step closer. The move put him within her personal space; intimate. She had to fight the urge to take a step back.

"I'm just tired is all," she tried to assure him. "How are you?"

"Fine," he said, though she saw plainly in his grey eyes that he was not interested in idle chit-chat. "Better than you, I gather."

"Oh, I don't know about that. I like to think I'm perfectly well, thank you very much." She stifled a cringe, knowing how defensive she sounded. Damn him. "As I said, I'm just tired. I haven't been sleeping well."

He didn't say anything, but she could tell by the look on his face that he knew exactly why she hadn't been sleeping.

She tried not to squirm under his thoughtful gaze. Of all the people in her life, Sirius Black was the one she could never hide from. Even after he had mysteriously popped out of that bloody curtain, he hadn't lost his uncanny ability to read her. He had waltzed into Grimmauld Place as if he had never left—and since he had been exonerated posthumously, he was free to waltz anywhere he damn well pleased—and knew straight away everything that was going through Hermione Granger's busy head.

It made her wary of him. At least at the beginning. But he proved to be every bit the charming, well-meaning, sometimes-rakish devil-may-care playboy his reputation had suggested and she found herself slowly starting to enjoy his company, even if her own life was starting to move in a direction she had never expected. He had been the one constant and she had clung to him—once.

But that was a long time ago.

"Well," she finally said when the silence between them became so filled with unspoken words that she was certain her brain would explode. "I was just heading out. It was nice to see—"

"Have dinner with me, 'Mione."

She sighed and looked down. "I think we both know why that's a bad idea, Sirius."

"I don't think we do."

"Please don't—"

"You're the one that ran that night, 'Mione," he said softly. "Not me."

She gave him a sharp look. "That night shouldn't have happened."

"Says you."

"Yes," she said as firmly as she could manage. "Says me."

He took another step closer, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin. His scent enveloped her, darkly seductive and smelling of sandalwood and freshly-cut grass. His large, muscular form—the type of body men half his age would kill for—surrounded her with pure masculinity and her knees went slightly weak as she was thrown back in time, awash with memory. His lips on her skin. His tender words of passion in her ear. His hands stoking the flames of desire within her, limbs entangled.

The look of disappointment on his face when she pulled away from him and left without explanation.

"What are you so afraid of, kitten?" he asked softly, employing the nickname he had coined for her years ago, before her life had been upended.

Before she had very nearly found herself in his bed and indelibly notched upon his impressive bedpost.

Forcing herself to take a step back, she looked up into his handsome face and said, "You, Sirius. I'm afraid of you."

She didn't wait for his reply as she spun on her heel and exited the now-claustrophobic room.

* * *

Hermione was certain that the man who lay next to her was a good man.

Perhaps not as good as he ought to be, judging from the wedding ring on his finger in spite of the fact that she was not the one who had put it there. Perhaps not the type of man she had envisioned herself with back when she was still naïve enough to envision a happily-ever-after fairy tale for herself. But she knew he was, essentially, a good man. Better, at least, than she needed him to be. Better than she deserved.

Or, at least that was what she told herself.

He was sleeping now, exhausted by the night's activities. She, however, had not found rest. She hadn't for a very long time; years, really. Not since she had decided to stop caring what she did, or who she did it with. She worked hard, of course—nothing could kill her work ethic—but sleep was rare and rarer still when she was not alone. And there was hardly a night now when she wasn't alone.

Sliding out of bed, she pulled on her robe—a deep red silk thing that served little practical purpose—and headed aimlessly to her terrace. That night was clear but cold, and as she opened the sliding glass door, she instinctively pulled the robe tighter. She knew, however, that no amount of fabric could ward off the chill that enveloped her body.

The city stretched beneath her and she watched the glittering lights of the vibrant city. Her flat was in the heart of Muggle London, in one of the sleek high rises the city boys loved so much. To her neighbours, she was just another successful young professional; single, wealthy and fun-loving. She liked the façade. It kept curiosity at bay. None of them noticed the fairly endless parade of men that flowed in and out of her home at all hours. It was perfectly private, and privately perfect.

She heard her lover stirring but did not acknowledge it. She didn't even remember his name. There had been alcohol involved, but that wasn't really an excuse anymore. Alcohol was usually involved; it was the only way she could do what she did and still be able to look at herself in the mirror in the morning. Or at least, attempt to look at herself in the mirror.

She was certain it would be the same; a quiet exit, maybe some money on the dresser if he was feeling particularly guilty. It didn't bother her the way it probably should have. Even the first time it had occurred, back when she could still sleep and had awoken to find five hundred pounds on the bedside table, she hadn't felt the horrified shame she expected. It just became another facet of her new life.

That first flush of cash purchased a new pair of expensive shoes; an ironic form of retail therapy. It became a ritual after that. She didn't like to think how many pairs she now owned.

Her front door closed with a soft click and she knew without looking that he was gone. She hadn't expected any different. Night after night, when the seduction and the sex had finished, the loneliness crept in. The thrill of the chase faded to calm acceptance that, once again, she had gone out searching for something and had failed to find it. She still didn't know what it was. She thought she would know it when she found it but she never got the opportunity.

Re-crossing her arms, she closed her eyes and let her glamours drop. Over the years she had gone for a few different ones to avoid detection or awkward explanations; that night had been the sultry blonde. It was a particular favourite when she ventured into the world of the travelling salesmen. She had named her Mia; a taller, more willowy version of her natural self; all cool confidence and hot gazes. She thought maybe one of the men she met would fall in love with Mia, or any of her other alter egos, but they never did.

She opened her eyes again, taking in the glorious vista and wondering—not for the first time—if one day it would be the last, beautiful view she saw before throwing herself over the railing. Sixteen stories would guarantee an end to the loneliness, at least.

"Hello, kitten."

She tensed at the sound of his voice. She briefly wondered if Sirius and his hard truths had shown up because tonight would finally be the night for that final flight and sudden stop. She wasn't concerned by his unexpected presence; her hard-won battle reflexes were long gone from neglect and apathy. But curiosity battled her melancholy. Not at how he had entered; he was a powerful wizard, after all. But at why, after so much time and so much abuse he suffered at her hands, he still cared enough to try. Why he, of all people, was the one to seek her out when everyone else had stopped bothering.

"I hadn't realized things had gotten this bad," he continued quietly.

She turned, eyes dead as she took him in. "Hadn't you?" she asked. "Why are you here then?"

He took in her appearance. "I'm worried about you."

She gave a scoffing snort and turned back to her view. "I'm just fine, Sirius."

"Clearly," he said dryly and she heard him take a step closer. "Just fine, standing here in the cold, looking out into the distance like you're going to do something stupid."

"Says the man who courted danger for most of his life."

"Not like this, Hermione."

"Like what? How do you know how I'm living?"

"It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what you do, Hermione. The only thing someone has to do is pay enough attention."

"And you're that person, huh? To what do I owe the honour of your attentiveness, Mr. Black?"

"Be churlish all you want, love. I still care about you and I don't like to see you hurting yourself like this."

"Like what? I was simply standing on my terrace when you unceremoniously appeared."

"You know me better than anyone, Hermione. Don't insult my intelligence by pretending that you're not screwing half of London without care or concern for the consequences."

She tried not to flinch at the hard truth. She forced a sardonic smile and said, "And here I thought I was just following your fine example."

"Flattered though I am, kitten, we both know this is more than just you and me."

It wasn't. She knew it. But that was the absolute last thing she wanted to talk about. Especially to him. So she went a different direction, stating a firm, "There was never a 'you and me,' Sirius."

He smiled sadly. "Perhaps not for you, kitten."

She felt her own lips curl into a bitter smile. "Romantic insipidity doesn't suit you, Black."

"And yet I wear it sincerely, Miss Granger."

She felt his presence acutely. He radiated a warmth she hadn't felt for a long time; a genuine concern for her well-being that she had stopped anticipating from men a long time ago. It felt…nice. Familiar. That alone should have sent up more than one red flag but Sirius Black had always done odd things to her defence mechanisms.

"What do you want, Sirius?" she finally asked after a few moments silence, turning to face him once more. "Do you want a quick fuck? Because in case you didn't notice, my dance card his full for tonight."

"Yes. I met your…date…as I was stepping off the lift."

She expected something far more judgmental, but he remained quiet so she repeated, "What do you want?"

He tilted his head. "Why is it so hard for you to believe me when I say I'm honestly worried about you?"

The bitter smirk returned to her lips. "Historical proof to the contrary."

"I'm forced to remind you once more, 'Mione, that I was not the one that ran away that night. You were."

"Yes, well, you'll forgive me for deciding _not_ to be just another quick shag on your to-do list."

His brow furrowed. "What makes you think that's what you were?"

She actually laughed at that. "Again, historical proof to the contrary."

He looked at her for a long moment and she thought she saw genuine hurt in his soft slate eyes. "I don't know what I did to make you think so little of me."

She quirked an eyebrow in spite of the niggling sense of regret in her gut. "We lived in the same house for a year, Sirius. I saw all of your conquests come and go. I never saw the same face twice. Are you telling me that you actually had deep, meaningful connections with all of them?"

"None of them were my friend, Hermione," he said quietly. "Those _conquests_, as you call them, were fleeting connections between consenting adults. What happened between us…that was different. I didn't for one minute think that what we had together was anything less than a meaningful bond between two friends quickly discovering a deep attraction to each other. And I had hoped you thought better of _me_, if not yourself, to know the difference." He shook his head, taking another step toward her. "I would never have considered you a meaningless fuck, kitten. You were never the type."

"Yes, well," she murmured, looking away from his intensity. "Things change."

"Yes," he said. "It appears that they have."

She looked up sharply, a burst of emotion filling her. "Is that why you're here, then?" she bit out. "You figured that since I was fucking my way through southern England, maybe I would fuck you, too?"

"Hermione," he said firmly. "I do not now, nor did I ever, intend on merely fucking you."

She didn't know why, but she felt like he had slapped her. "Well," she finally said. "Good thing I left then."

"You misunderstand," he said, taking yet another step toward her that put him back in her personal space. "You are…an extraordinary young woman. I have always thought so. I didn't believe my luck when you came to me that night. You…you terrify me, and inspire me, and take my breath away. I didn't know why you suddenly wanted me—an old man, twice your age, scarred and battle-weary—but I decided not to question good things. I wanted you; had for awhile. It hurt when you ran and my wounded pride stopped me from following you. If I could go back and do it again, I wouldn't have let you just leave without telling me why. I hadn't known…" He trailed off. "I've…only recently realized why."

She looked up at him sharply. His grey eyes were soft. Beseeching. Intense in their understanding of exactly what had happened to her before she had sought out his company; of what had _led_ her to seeking him out. She swallowed hard, intent on remaining indifferent as her stomach clenched uncomfortably. "I told you. I didn't want to be another notch on your bedpost."

"If that was actually the case, Hermione, you wouldn't have used the words you used earlier tonight," he said softly. "You said you were afraid of me. That was the moment…things clicked into place."

She inhaled deeply, unbidden memories sweeping over her. She had come to him broken, hoping he would fix her. But she didn't know how to tell him and so she had done the only thing she knew how to do; she offered her body. And he, not knowing, had accepted without hesitance. She hadn't known at the time that the thing she needed from him was the one word she was afraid to hear: "No."

She pushed past him, heading into her bedroom and saying, "You don't know anything."

"I spoke to Cormac, Hermione."

She stopped short in the middle of the room, her body shaking as she felt the walls start to close in. She was short of breath. Her vision became blurry. Hot, fat tears rolled down her face, the world spinning and her knees gave. She would have collapsed but for a strong pair of arms that caught her, cradling her to a warm body. She was wracked by the desire to scream in anguish, though it escaped her lips in the form of a quiet whimper.

"It's okay, love," Sirius whispered in her ear, holding her tightly as he rocked her. "Let it out."

She wrenched herself from him, unable to take the pity that she knew was coming. "Get out."

"'Mione…"

"_Get out!_" she screamed, scrambling away from him to the corner of the room, wrapping her arms around her knees and sobbing.

"No."

She looked up at him, tears streaking down her face as he slowly moved toward her. There was no pity in his face, just hardened determination. It wasn't predatory; in fact, it was comforting. He didn't touch her, but he didn't keep his distance. He was right in front of her, sitting on his heels with his hands to his sides, waiting for her.

She launched herself into his arms and buried herself in his warmth.

"Shh, love," he repeated, his hands combing softly through her heavy curls. "I'm here."

And for the first time, Hermione Granger let herself be held while she let out all of the emotion she had thought dead and buried for over seven years.

"I suppose it all started when I finished Hogwarts."

Hermione was sitting in her bathtub, soaking in the hot water that slowly warmed the bone-deep chill that she had carried for almost a decade. Sirius sat next to her, having helped her into the bath in the first place. He remained admirably quiet, his eyes remaining on her face in passive interest. Seven years ago, his eyes had raked her body with uncensored hunger. Now, he was tender. Almost loving.

"I remember that day," he replied, his hand holding hers firmly as he sat on an upturned wastepaper basket. "You walked into the house looking like you were ready to conquer the world."

"I was," she said, the shadow of a smile on her lips. "Then I saw them. Ron, and Luna. I had known, of course, that they had found each other while I was at school. I don't think I really thought that Ron and I would end up together. We're just…too different. But…seeing them together…it hurt."

He nodded. "I know. I saw that, too."

She looked at him and for the first time truly appreciated why he was considered as intelligent as he was. It was not that she had thought him stupid; never that. He just never let many people see that side of him.

"You remained friends with them, though, so I guess you were able to hide it," Sirius softly pressed.

"Yes," she replied. "I suppose that was the first time I buried an unpleasant emotion. It seems silly, considering how happy they are together now, but at the time it seemed like such a burden. And as the months went by, and all of my friends started pairing up and settling down, there were more emotions that I just kept burying, all the while smiling and agreeing to countless blind dates and set-ups."

There was a moment of quiet contemplation before she added, "I didn't sleep with them at first."

It was a shift in conversation she knew she would have to take eventually, so she decided to do it sooner rather than later. It was the whole crux of why they were there—her promiscuity, or rather, her _adventures_. It had all started so innocently. She couldn't believe that had been almost ten years ago.

"I knew that would have crossed a line I wasn't…I hadn't been ready to cross," she continued. "There were a few whom I thought had potential…and when they didn't work out I started to consider that refusing to sleep with them may have been the reason why. So…I started having the odd one-nighter, thinking that maybe it would develop into something more. Of course, it never did."

With her free hand, she flicked a few droplets of water away from her carelessly, watching as they fell back into the bath with a quiet splash. She watched the ripples fade, the water turning glassy and calm once more. It was a nice metaphor for that point in her life. Each droplet was a one-night stand, the consequences of which upending her life for a moment but always fading back to calm normality.

"How did Cormac happen?" Sirius asked.

Hermione felt every muscle in her body tense as more hot tears pricked her eyes. Of all the things she had done, the shame of Cormac MacLaggen could never be washed away. It had been the tipping point; the last solitary water droplet before a torrential downpour. The memory of that night still haunted her.

"I was feeling very low," she started, refusing to meet Sirius's eyes. "Harry and Ginny had just become engaged; Ron and Luna were deliriously happy. I had had a horrible blind date the night before and a terrible day at work, so I went to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink. Cormac was there, newly-promoted to the Department of Magical Games and Sports. He had an audience, as usual. But when he saw me, he smiled and came over. We talked. He was still arrogant and self-centred, but he was also…kind. And flattering."

A tear ran down her cheek and Sirius gave her hand a supportive squeeze. She exhaled slowly and continued, "I don't know how much I drank. Too much. Ended up…ended up sucking his cock in the men's. I thought I'd wanted to. I thought, 'I should do something nice for him, because he's been so nice to me.' And that's what I came up with. Falling to my knees in the dirty men's room in the Leaky Cauldron."

Tears were falling freely then, sliding down to her jaw and dripping into the water. She closed her eyes, trying to ward away the scent of that night; the feel of the grimy tile under her body. A soft finger caressed her cheekbone, and she opened her eyes to see Sirius whisking a tear away.

He didn't say anything and she was grateful. She didn't know if he could have said anything comforting in that moment. Inhaling again, she finished her story.

"When he…finished, he just…smiled. He zipped himself up and said, "I knew you had a wicked mouth on you, Granger," and left. I guess I just went…numb…at that point. I didn't care what I looked like when I walked out of that bathroom. I'm sure I looked a sight. I didn't even care when I heard Cormac and his friends laughing together. I knew he had told them but I just…"

"You didn't care anymore," he finished, his fingers running through her damp hair soothingly. "When was this?"

She met his eyes for a moment then looked away, saying, "The night in the library."

His fingers stopped their movement and she closed her eyes, deciding to just talk. "I came home to Grimmauld. I showered. Then I went to find you. We had become so close and I thought that maybe I could talk to you…but you weren't in your room. And…and I saw a pair of…of lacy pink underwear sticking out from under the bed and I just…I realized that I was probably no better than those women who came to your bed. I guess…something in me just decided that, if _you_ wanted me…then I really must be no better than those women…those women I had always considered beneath me." She swallowed hard. "So I decided that maybe I should just stop caring about it and act like it."

She felt him tense and she remained quiet, waiting for him to do something. She half-expected him to leave. After all, what man wanted to hear that they were a barometer for how much of a slag a woman considered herself. She waited for him to open his mouth and make the apologies men made when they wanted to get out of uncomfortable situations. Eyes still closed, she didn't think she could take watching him walk out on her, even though deep inside she knew she deserved it.

Instead, she felt warm lips pressed to her temple, followed by a puff of hot breath as he exhaled slowly. The fingers of one hand continued to run through her hair while the others held her hand, thumb rubbing casually against her skin.

"I'm sorry," he whispered softly. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you how incredible you are; how different you are from all of those women you saw me with. I understand why you thought…" He trailed off once more, nuzzling softly into her ear. "I wish I could make you believe how much I cared about you. How much I still care."

She gave a low, almost sobbing laugh. "You still care now? After all these years, knowing how many men I've probably been with, and what I've done? Knowing—"

"Yes, Hermione," he whispered. "I still care. And I still think you're an incredible woman. A little…scarred, perhaps. But I suppose...for me…it makes you seem a little more human." He tilted her head toward him. "Open your eyes, kitten."

Slowly, she opened her eyes, finding herself looking into his beautiful eyes. Eyes she remembered almost falling into when she had come into the library, determined to seduce him, just to prove to herself that she didn't care anymore. She remembered the mixture of surprise and desire as she slowly wrapped him around her finger. She remembered the hunger and the unfocused passion when she had found herself beneath him on the dark leather couch.

She remembered the sparkle of deep affection; of respect and adoration. It had been the last straw; the real reason why she had run. She had known—as he had tried to explain to her—that he thought she was different from all the other women. And knowing that she wasn't, she couldn't bring herself to shatter the illusion. So she ran.

His eyes held the same affection, respect and adoration now. And she was done with running.

"Thank you, Sirius," she whispered.

He smiled softly. "Welcome back to life, kitten."

* * *

_Thank you for reading._


End file.
